Sounds
by denise1
Summary: Thoughts of one general


Sounds

By

Denise

There are a lot of sounds in this place. The omnipresent hum of the air conditioning/heating systems. The whirr and whine of dozens of high powered hard drives. The rhythmic clicking of the heels of the few female personnel we have. The heavy thunk of rubber soled boots on concrete.

The murmured conversations of the personnel. Conversations that sometimes break off abruptly when I enter the room. Something, you soon learn, that comes with rank. You try not to let it bother you but on those down days it can set off a bit of a lonely feeling. You're responsible for these people, you care for these people, yet they hold themselves separate from you.

It's not that they don't like you; the little pins on my shoulder just intimidate them. Not all of them of course. Sergeant Davis will speak his mind when I ask for it. So will Doctor Fraiser. It's refreshing to have people that treat you like an equal. Then of course there's Jack O'Neill…well I can't say he never speaks his mind. And if he ever figures out that there is a time and a place NOT to speak his mind he just might make general some day…God help us all.

But you know the sound of his sarcastic voice is one of the barometers of this place. If Jack's cracking jokes, we're all ok. It's when he's quiet and serious that I worry.  
It's the same with the rest of his team. If Major Carter is in the control room or her lab cursing the equipment, we're in trouble. But if Doctor Jackson is furiously expounding on some theory, things can't be too bad. It's when he's quiet that you have to be concerned.

And Teal'c…well Teal'c is always quiet but I don't hold it against him. Speaking your mind in his previous job usually resulted in death by torture.

I take a look at my watch and set my paperwork aside. It's nearly time.

Just as I start down the circular stairs, which clang a bit with every footstep, I hear the raucous screeching of the klaxons drowning out the clicking of the keyboards in the control room.

Even through the glass I can hear the scratching whine of the iris closing just as the gate room lights up with that unearthly blue glow of an open wormhole.

"Sergeant?"

"It's SG-1 sir," he says without looking up, his fingers flying across the keys and his hand slamming down on the palm reader.

"Open the iris," I tell him as it spins open. I watch the troop of Marines file into the room, weapons at the ready, their heavy boots pounding a staccato beat on the cement floor. I can barely hear the snap-clicks of weapons being readied. True, SG-1 is actually on time and there have been no cries for help but you can't be too careful. Over the past few years I've seen some nasty, nasty things come through that little hole in the fabric of our existence.

Doctor Jackson and Major Carter come home first, strolling across the event horizon like they were walking in a park on a Sunday afternoon.

"He was right Daniel," I hear Carter say as her boots make a chunking sound as she walks down the ramp.

"You always agree with him," Jackson protests rather petulantly. The tones of their voices and the tolerant smile on the woman's face tells me this is one of those familial squabbles I get to witness every so often. I'll never tell them this, but at times it reminds me of listening to my own kids grouse and fight. It's a good feeling.

"When he's right," she answers, handing over her rifle.

"Oh come on, he's not right that often." I leave the control room and walk down to the gate room. I know I'm going to hear all about it, eventually. If not in the briefing then through the mode of communication that's second only to the red phone in its speed….the grapevine.

"Daniel, I am not going into this," she says. I can hear the exasperation in her voice. Time to step in before the grapevine gets too much of an earful.

A slurping sound and the pounding of four feet heralds the return of Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c, also casually exiting the wormhole, dragging a small equipment sled. Who would have thought that interstellar travel would become ordinary, in my lifetime anyway.

"Welcome back SG-1. How was P3R245?"

"Absolutely peachy sir," Jack says, releasing his rifle with a tiny snick of the plastic clip and handing it over. "Nice boring planet, no natives, at least none that we saw. Carter got her dirt, I got to teach Teal'c the finer points of poker…"

"You forgot to mention the ruins we DIDN'T get to explore," Doctor Jackson speaks up.

"No Daniel I didn't forget," he replies, his tone short.

Aah, so this is the bone of contention. "Colonel?"

"There was a ruin sir. But the risk was too great so we didn't explore it," he briefs me. "End of story," he directs towards Jackson.

"Jack…"

I hold up my hands before this gets out of hand. "People, perhaps we should adjourn to the briefing room?" It is not a hint. They follow me up the stairs and each claim a chair. In the stillness of the room I can hear the tiny hiss as the body sitting on it compresses each of the cushions.

"Teal'c, perhaps you could fill me in on these ruins?" Better start with the most rational member of the group. I hear a rasping sound as Jack unzips his jacket and leans back in the chair.

"There were indeed ruins General Hammond. They resided on the far side of a large waterway…"

"Which is why we had a boat," Jackson interrupts.

"Doctor Jackson. Teal'c, please continue."

"Colonel O'Neill deemed the crossing of the river to be too great a danger."

"Sure the water was running a little fast but…"

"It wasn't the water Daniel, it was what was IN the water," Carter says reasonably.

"Fish. So what? Jack upset because he forgot his pole?"

"Big honkin fish Daniel."

"So?"

"Large aquatic creatures with sizable teeth Daniel Jackson."

"Teeth?"

"Yeah. Think three foot long piranha."

"Piranha? You didn't say anything about piranha."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"Did."

"Did not."

"Did!"

"Not!"

"Gentlemen." Two sets of eyes turn to me. I can see the barely contained mirth on the faces of the other two members of the team. They look like indulgent parents watching their kids squabble. "Am I to understand that this is a simple misunderstanding?"

"It aah…looks that way sir," O'Neill admits grudgingly.

"Then unless any of you have anything else to add I suggest we adjourn and reconvene at 1730 to formally debrief."

Four muttered 'yes sirs' fill the air and I get up, the wheels of my chair squeaking slightly. I need to mention that to Siler.

I leave the room and go into my office. I have plenty to do, the quantity of paperwork associated with the SGC is rivaled only by the quantity of surprises the stargate can deliver. Oftentimes neither is welcome. The voices of SG-1 follow me into my office.

"Daniel, I know I told you about the fish."

"You said there were fish. You mentioned nothing about three foot long piranha."

"I did so."

"Actually Colonel, I don't know if Daniel was there."

"Yes he was."

"He was not O'Neill."

"Yes he….he wasn't?"

"I don't think so sir."

"D'oh. Daniel…"

"Yes Jack," Daniel says sweetly. Jack's in trouble now.

"Nothing." You're not getting out of this one Jack.

"No. No. No. This is a red-letter day. Jack O'Neill was wrong. I want an apology."

"Hang on Daniel, I want to get this on tape."

"Carter. You are not helping."

I listen as the sound of their bickering, laughing voices fade, as they leave the briefing room, intent no doubt, upon showers and a hot meal.

I realize that there is one sound unique to this facility. One sound I cherish more than all the others.

The sounds of family

Fin


End file.
